


Inside Of the Cabinet

by HarveyWallbanger



Category: Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari | Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)
Genre: Asylum, Freudian bullshit, Gen, Psychoanalysis, Questionable therapeutic value, dialogue only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:11:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarveyWallbanger/pseuds/HarveyWallbanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I didn't argue [...]  You don't argue with a sleep-walker.  He may fall and break his neck.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside Of the Cabinet

**Author's Note:**

> The quote in the summary is paraphrased from the movie, Sunset Boulevard. I have nothing to do with any movies of the era of classic film, and this school has nothing to do with any movies of the era of classic film. No one pays me to do this. Do not try any of this at home. Thank you, and good night.

There was, once, a maiden, fair, beloved of two young knights.  
You've told this story before.  
It's the truth.  
Continue.  
There was, once, a maiden, fair, beloved of two young knights. Being men of honor, chivalrous to the end, as well as being the best of friends, they swore to let the maiden choose as she would, to treat her with utmost courtesy and respect, for it was her due. She must do as her heart bid her, and whomever she chose, the other would honor her decision, and swear his eternal friendship to both. For all were friends, the two knights, and the lady. Before everything else, they were friends, each loving the others with the purest-  
You say 'each loving the others'. Surely, though, the love that the two knights bore for the lady was different than that which they bore for each other.  
I don't see how. The bond of friendship knows no caste or sex.  
But you see, do you not- you must!- that the love between friends is not that of a husband for a wife?  
Neither was her husband, and she was not a wife. Or, she was wife to both, and-  
And?  
And, once, there was a maiden, fair, beloved of two young knights...

You've told this story before.  
I like this story. It's beautiful.  
Is it? You've never reached the end.  
It becomes so sad.  
Really?  
Yes.  
How so?  
A curse comes over the land, and one of the knights falls into a trance, undergoes a change; does things, that upon waking, he cannot believe.  
What happens after that?  
The shock of knowing what he has done drives him back into sleep, where he remains.  
Forever?  
Maybe.  
So, he could wake?  
If he could, he would.  
Why can't he?  
Do you believe that events have a weight, as surely as physical objects? That something could happen, and fall upon time so heavily that all of the moments were compressed and crushed?  
I'm not sure. How do you mean?  
Do you believe that something so terrible could happen that it could wipe out a part of history, eat time?  
What does this have to do with-  
If all of a time is consumed, by something greater than any man, if something happens in that time, does it belong to the man who commits the act, or does it belong to the thing greater than the man?  
Are you speaking of responsibility?  
If you like.  
Are you saying that you're in thrall to something greater than yourself?  
Not me. (A laugh.)  
The knight, if you'd prefer.  
Of course. A curse came upon the land. I told you.  
But cannot one make oneself more susceptible to enchantments? Can one not make oneself vulnerable?  
I don't understand.  
In many of the stories, like the one you like to tell, people seek out the means of their enthrallment.  
Why would someone do that?  
To become intoxicated. To give up their will, and their responsibility, to another.  
But why?  
Sometimes, when one truly wants to do something, but cannot countenance the act, it's convenient to find someone or something in which to drown one's will. One can then say that it was the external influence acting on them; that, had they been in possession of their faculties, they could never have committed such an act.  
(A shake of the head. A sad one.) No one sets out to be cursed. It just happens.

I was a detective.  
Yes?  
That was my profession. Before I was forced to change it. Officially, anyway. Unofficially, I, of course, remain an investigator.  
Go on.  
I was investigating a series of strange crimes.  
Strange, how?  
Murders were being committed by ordinary citizens who claimed to have neither knowledge of the act, nor the desire to commit it.  
Ah.  
The perpetrators came from all backgrounds, were both men and women. The only common feature was the claim of the perpetrators- or victims, some might say- that they had been in a trance when the murders occurred, and while all evidence might point to them, it had not been they who had committed the crimes.  
Who had it been?  
How you dissemble! All right. If you like, we can continue this way. They claimed to be entranced at the time, after having been mesmerized by a villain.  
Which villain?  
Doctor Caligari, of course!  
And who is this Doctor Caligari?  
That, no one really knows. Originally, he was a Renaissance-era genius, and madman. Then, in modern times, there came a pretender, another madman- but not a genius. The original made a somnambulist carry out terrible deeds, and the latter version did, as well. This one, though, was not satisfied with one creature; he sought many- sought to enslave the whole land with his, his (Head in hands) lack of reason. He sought to blot reason from the land, to rend it like a garment, leave it hanging in shreds, and to obliterate decency with it- so that every man was just a toy, a dummy, a puppet controlled by his basest whims, and- (A groan...)  
Are you in pain?  
(A laugh.) In pain? No. Not I. There is no pain for those who know absolute truth; it hurts us, but we are beyond hurting, so we experience no pain. (He stands.) I know what you've done. I know that it's you. I know. I know.  
(Sometimes, these accusations crescendo to shrill yells, wild gesticulations, but today, he utters them softly, plainly, without frill or other ornamentation. The attendants come into the room, but with a gesture, the doctor bids them remain at the door.)  
What is it you know?  
I know. I know.  
What?  
I know what happened.  
Which was. (So gently, the doctor says this. He must say it so, so gently.)  
I know.  
(Here ends the interview. The patient sits again, falls silent, is escorted back to his room with no fuss.)

Tell me about the two knights.  
What?  
The two knights, in your tale. The two who loved the lady.  
They were the best of friends.  
Yes.  
They loved each other as brothers.  
Yes. And if one had won the lady's hand fairly-  
It would only be fairly. Both were equal in honor, and that honor was great. Neither would ever do anything to unduly influence the maid- for she was worthy only of the truest love, which must be that her heart bid her choose.  
Neither would ever do anything to influence her selection?  
It would be wrong.  
If they loved each other as brothers, did they love her as a sister?  
I suppose that they must have.  
But brothers don't marry their sisters.  
Of course not! I mean, not the nature of the love, but its purity and nobility.  
So, the love they bore for each other was equal to that which they bore for her.  
Yes.  
What would have happened if she'd chosen?  
He who was not chosen would honor her decision.  
Yes, but where would he go?  
Go?  
Did the two knights live together?  
They might have. It's not uncommon for young men to share a household, to save on cost, and-  
No, not at all. But they could hardly have continued this arrangement if one had married the young woman.  
That's not true.  
But it is! A family starts with a man and a woman, yes?  
Not always.  
You'll have to speak up; I didn't hear that last thing you said.  
I didn't say anything.  
All right. It must be my hearing failing me in old age. A family begins with a man and a woman, and then, there are children-  
But what of maiden aunts?  
I'm sorry?  
What of maiden aunts? And widowed mothers-in-law? And cousins apprenticed to the family? And infirm uncles who have never been able to marry? Aren't these part of the family?  
Well, yes, of course.  
So, how can you say that a family begins with a man and a woman? What of orphans, who have neither mother nor father, but are brought up by kindly relatives, or charitable strangers? Do they have no family in the world? No love?  
Yes, but we're not talking about familial love. We're talking about romantic love. Which is between a man and a woman.  
(A long silence.)  
Did I ever tell you the story of the somnambulist who could see into the future?  
That's a new one. Go on.

There once was a sleep-walker who had no use for the present- for he was always asleep, and time meant nothing to him. The hours, the days were as a great sea to one who is in its center, a wall of trembling water on all sides. Above!- a sky like unto the sea in color. It was like being nowhere. Although he had no real concept of time, this somnambulist could see into the future. Perhaps, it was because he had no concept of time.  
What did he do?  
He walked in his sleep. That's what a somnambulist is.  
No, I mean, what did he do with his wondrous power?  
He was enthralled to, and kept by, a magician- or a mesmerist- an evil man, at any rate- who used him. He displayed him like an attraction, for people to gawk at- as a freak, just because he experienced life differently, was more at home in the mist of dreams than in this waking world of bright, hard edges- and when that wasn't enough, he used the man's sensitivity against him, made him do horrible things.  
Like what?  
Horrible things.  
Why?  
(A laugh.) Why not? Isn't that what those who have absolute power over others do with their creatures?  
What would you do?  
Not that. (He shakes his head mournfully.)  
Not what?  
Not murder.  
That's what this magician made the somnambulist do?  
Yes. The magician made the somnambulist's friend into his enemy, took advantage of-  
Yes? Of what?  
Of feelings that the somnambulist had.  
Which were.  
(He shakes his head, sorrowfully.) Feelings that were not of friendship.  
Which were?  
The somnambulist had been asleep his entire life. Can you imagine that?  
No, I'm afraid that I can't. Could you describe it for me?  
Yes. It was a life of softness, and of joy. The quiet joy of one who wants for nothing, and cannot imagine that there would be anything to want. If sorrow, or anger, or... anything else came, it was the feeling of a child. The hatred of a child, who might strike out in anger at another child, only to immediately feel remorse.  
But you'd punish such a child.  
What?  
So that he would know that he couldn't go through life hitting everyone who annoyed him.  
But it's a child!  
It's still a reasoning creature. It makes mistakes, but it can learn from them. That is, in fact, what children do: they make mistakes, and they learn. It is the whole of their nature.  
If you punish a child too harshly, though, especially if that child is sensitive...  
Yes, of course, an adult can go too far, just as a child can, and do real damage. That doesn't mean that the child should get away with the wrong they've done.  
(Glumly.) I suppose not.  
Of course not. Tell me more about the somnambulist.  
No. You've quite put me off. I want to go back to my room.

Last time we spoke, you told me about the somnambulist. I'd like to hear more about him.  
Oh. Well, his life was one of total immersion in sleep. Whatever he did, he slumbered.  
And love?  
Love?  
Did he love?  
I suppose. As a child might.  
During the period of latency?  
What?  
I'm sorry- it's a technical term. It means, before the reaching of maturity, when the act of love, as adults know it, is still a mystery.  
I don't know.  
You don't know?  
I don't know what you mean. He was human, so of course, he felt love. How you characterize it is your own business! I don't like all of these scientific terms; they muddle up the meaning of things, try to turn everything into a disease.  
All right. All right. Who did he love?  
Who?  
His mother, his father? His brothers, his sisters?  
He had a brother and a sister.  
And he loved them.  
He did.  
Whom did he love more?  
More?  
Yes. Did he love his brother more, for being a boy, like him; someone who could understand him, someone he could talk to? Did he love his sister more, because she was easier to love; softer, more delicate, gayer and more precious?  
Why, he loved them both in the same way.  
Not one more than the other?  
No.  
Not one in a slightly different way?  
No.  
How did he show his love?  
What do you mean?  
What did he do to show them that he loved them?  
I don't know.  
You don't know?  
No.  
Did he spend time with them?  
Yes.  
Give them presents?  
When he could.  
Did he tell them that he loved them?  
Well, yes, of course.  
Did he embrace them?  
I suppose.  
Did he kiss them?  
I don't- I don't know.  
Did he do anything else?  
I don't know what you mean.  
Is there anything else you can think of?  
I'm not- I don't like these questions.  
Fine. If you're distressed, you don't have to talk about this anymore.  
Thank you.

The somnambulist-  
Yes.  
The somnambulist lived a life of simple, sleeping joy: a walking dream.  
Yes.  
He had a brother and a sister, and he loved them both. Very much.  
Yes.  
They lived together- so happily!- (A desperate look from Francis.) Why would anybody want to change it?  
Change it, how?  
Change it, by, by- (His head in his hands.) By taking them away.  
Taking who away?  
(Francis looks up. Pleadingly.) If you were happy, so happy, why would you want to change anything? Even if others didn't understand your happiness...  
Why didn't they understand?  
It was different from theirs.  
How?  
It wasn't the way the story goes.  
Which story is that?  
The story of the knights and the fair maiden.  
How does this go?  
(A sigh.) There once was a maiden, fair, who was beloved of two knights. Both were equal in valor and honor, and none could say which the lady would choose. Until it happened, she didn't know, herself. Eventually, though, she made her choice, and the other knight...  
The other knight?  
He must die!  
Die? But why should this be?  
(A laugh.) Because life without love is nothing.  
Surely, he could find another maiden, love again.  
No.  
Why not?  
(Bitterly.) He had already fallen in love twice, and twice was enough.  
Twice, you say. There was only one maiden.  
I'm not talking about this anymore.  
No. You must tell me.  
(Desperately.) I think you know.  
What I know doesn't matter. It's what you tell me that counts.  
I can't.  
You must.  
No.  
Fine. You may return to your room.  
Thank you.

The knight was in love.  
Yes.  
He was in love. He had been, as long as he could remember. But he was ensorcelled.  
How?  
Whatever he saw, he saw two of it.  
How so?  
He saw two loves.  
Yes?  
He was in love, twice over.  
With whom?  
It was a folly.  
How so?  
It couldn't have been real.  
A dream?  
Perhaps.  
Did he dream when awake?  
He must have, to feel thus.  
What did he feel?  
(A long sigh.) He was in love with a fair lady...  
Yes.  
He was also in love with a knight of his acquaintance.  
Ah.  
But it was a spell!  
Of course.  
It was a spell. It was a spell that made him feel this way.  
How did he feel?  
When he looked at the knight, it was the same as when he looked at the lady. Someone had bewitched his senses.  
Yes.  
He was bewitched, and he felt things that he couldn't- he couldn't understand. But the worst, the very worst...  
The worst?  
The worst, the very worst... Was that he knew that they, the maiden and the other knight, loved each other- Are you familiar with Plato?  
Yes.  
Do you believe that, in love, one seeks out the things that one is missing; that one is but one half of a being, and that all of life is the search for one's other half?  
I know the philosophy.  
(Agitated.) But do you believe it?  
I don't think it can be disproven. It's not without merit.  
(Relieved.) Perhaps, then, they, the maiden and the other knight, were each other's other half, but he, the knight, this knight- a fool!- a bewitched and ensorcelled fool!- believed that they were each his missing- not half, but two thirds, I guess (a laugh) speaking mathematically.  
It must have caused him great sorrow.  
(More relieved, still.) Such sorrow. It was like having his life torn asunder. He was losing his entire life.  
It must have hurt.  
It did.  
What did he do to ease the pain?  
What would you do, Doctor?  
This isn't my story.  
But it is! It's the story of every man!- and every woman. It's the story of every person who ever loved.  
But it was a lie, you say, an enchantment.  
(Absently.) Was it?  
That's what you said.  
But is not all love an enchantment? This is what the poets say.  
A poet is someone who dreams while awake. I mean, yes, that's what poets say. But to be a poet isn't to be a murderer.  
What?  
A murderer.  
What do you mean?  
(Now, I laugh.) Surely, Francis, you know the truth. Somewhere, in your mind, you know that you killed your friend, Alan, because he was about to run off with your love, this Jane. Or, possibly, you were in love with him, and killed him because you couldn't bear to see him with someone else. Or possibly, you murdered him because you were in love with them both, and you didn't want to be left out in the cold. Does it matter, Francis, does it matter anymore?  
I- I-  
Do you know what you did? You plunged a knife into his chest, Francis, Alan's chest, into his heart, because he'd broken yours. You did it. Not a sleep-walker, not a magician; you.  
I don't know about this.  
Yes. Yes, you do.  
It was a dream.  
It wasn't a dream! It was real. This was something that happened, something that you did!  
No. It was a dream.  
It wasn't!  
Did I ever tell you the story of the somnambulist, Doctor?  
Not this again... (I groan. Back to the beginning.)  
It's a nice story. You'll like it.


End file.
